And Makes Me End Where I Begun
by TinDog
Summary: A quiet moment between Mulder and Scully after her return from Maine.


[This is set after Season 5, Episode 10: "Chinga." Pure fluff, but if anyone deserves a few moments of undramatic happiness it is these two.]

* * *

Dana Scully closed the door to her apartment and leaned against it, letting out a long sigh of contentment. It was good to be home. Her Maine vacation had left her head spinning and she was glad to be back in her own space- soothing, orderly and reasonable, promising her the chance to re-order her thoughts and regain her grasp on pure scientific thought.

But.

Oh, there was always a _but_ in this job.

Mulder had missed her. There was no mistaking that puppy-dog eagerness, his clumsy haste as he oh-so-surreptitiously swept the evidence of his boredom into his desk drawer, the intensity of his gaze as his eyes followed her around their office for the remainder of the work day. It wasn't an orderly, reasonable, or scientific thought, but the memory of the look on his face when she walked in burned warm in Scully's mind like a lit candle. They were partners, platonic, but the heat of his gaze-

Scully peeled herself off the door and headed for her bedroom, shaking her head. That was a dangerous train of thought, one she could not afford to indulge in if she valued the work they did together. With the discipline of years she turned her thoughts to other things as she slipped out of her work clothes and into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Thick handknit socks and a ponytail completed her transformation. From there she went to the kitchen to grab a beer and a bag of cheddar pretzels, which she brought to the living room. She was going to watch a movie or two, enjoy her snack, rest her body and mind, and not think any more about Mulder's voice on the phone. Mulder, coming up with flimsy excuse after flimsy excuse to call her. Mulder, missing her the way she had missed him.

Scully rolled her eyes and grabbed a decorative pillow which was sticking into her lower back. "This is ridiculous," she told it sternly, and tossed it toward the other end of the couch. It bounced off. She watched it roll a short arc before falling over beneath the coffee table. "I am being ridiculous," she repeated, for good measure. Impatiently pushing away her forbidden thoughts for the second time that evening, she grabbed her beer and took a long drink while using her toes to poke the power button on the remote control. The television lit up, blaring a woman's voice layered over mystical, chiming music.

_"-Connect with those who have gone on ahead. Speak to lost loved ones. Madame Estelle guarantees-"_

Scully dove for the remote and jabbed at the mute button. She hated this commercial. " 'Madame Estelle guarantees' to be a total fraud!" she grumbled. "Who believes this crap anyway?" She raised the bottle to her lips again and a thought struck her. "Mulder. That's who believes this crap. If he were here he'd be giving me an earnest lecture on communication with the spirit world." She sipped her beer and was reaching for the pretzels when another thought struck her. _Mulder thinks my beliefs are flimsy, but he believes in spirits. He believes in souls. _Eyes gleaming with mischief, Scully reached for her cell phone and dialed Mulder's number.

He answered on the third ring, his voice low and rough with sleep. "Hello? This better be good."

"Mulder, I've reached an interesting conclusion."

"Scully?"

"I've been thinking-"  
"Have you been drinking? It's almost 2 a.m."

That gave her pause. "Oh. Oh, Mulder, I apologize. I've had half a beer but honestly I just lost track of the time. Go back to sleep." She hung up. The phone rang in her hand before she could set it back down.

"This is Agent Scully."

"Scully, you have to explain." His voice was more alert now. Scully pictured him lying back in his bed, covers thrown off, free hand tugging at his hair as he stared unseeingly at the ceiling. She squirmed a little, feeling guilty.

"I was just thinking about ghosts, Mulder. But it can wait until morning. It'll give us something to talk about if we don't get another case soon."

On the other end of the line, Mulder let out his breath in a long, controlled hiss. "Dana Scully. Marry me."

"Two proposals in as many days? I'm flattered!"

He laughed. "So. Ghosts? Need some help on the subject? Maybe some company?"

"Why? Do you think I've frightened myself?"

"Might have. Spooky subject, ghosts."

"Mulder, you know I don't believe in hauntings. There is always a logical explanation for events. I am fine by myself. Anyway, I guess I should have said spirits."

"Spirits? As in souls?"

"Yeah."

Mulder paused. "What prompted this line of thought?"  
"Just that commercial for Madame Estelle. Have you seen it? She claims to be a psychic or a medium or something. But I realized something, Mulder. You believe in that stuff. You believe in spirits, in communication. Don't you?"

"I have to. It's the only explanation for some of the things I've seen."

"That's your perception-but that's not the argument I want to have with you right now. What I'm getting at is this: how can you consider my faith so far-fetched when you believe in an afterlife?"

Another pause. "I can believe in an afterlife without being a Catholic, Scully."

She sighed. "I'm sorry."

"No, no! It's a fascinating line of thought." Scully could tell he was gearing up to explore it. Every last vestige of sleepiness was gone from his voice now and from his energy, she guessed he was no longer lying flat but standing, pacing his bedroom. _Wearing what? _Her traitorous mind speculated. _Probably no pants. Definitely no shirt. _

"I'm sorry," she said again, cutting short her own thoughts. "This can wait until morning. Goodnight, Mulder."

"Wait! What are you wearing?"

She laughed. "Goodnight, Mulder." This time the phone was silent in her hand and she set it down next to her beer bottle, shooting a glance at the clock across the room. It really was two in the morning. Ridiculous. She knew she should go to bed, but she felt strangely awake. Grabbing her beer bottle, she leaned back against the armrest and clicked through the channels until she found a late-night talk show that grabbed her interest.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at her door and then the scrape of a key as Mulder let himelf in. He was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, his hair was mussed from sleep, and he carried a tray with coffees and doughnuts from the gas station down the street.

"Morning, Sunshine," he said.

"Mulder! What are you doing?"

He sat down on the other end of the couch and kicked his shoes off. "Have a doughnut, Scully."

"It's 2:30 in the morning."  
"Yeah, I know. Some chick called and woke me up talking about ghosts. I was too scared to go back to sleep in my dark apartment so I thought I'd come see you."

Scully laughed despite herself. "I'll protect you," she promised. "Would you like a beer? Pretzels?"

"No thanks. I've been craving chocolate glazed all day." He joined her on the couch and happily downed three doughnuts over the next few minutes, all the while making a running commentary on the television program.

"You know, Mulder, you could have had a snack and criticized the TV at your own place."

"What's the fun in that?"

She couldn't help it. The words came spilling out of her. "You missed me."

"How could I have missed you? I was so busy I barely noticed you were gone."  
"You missed me and I know it." Scully reached for a doughnut, ate it. Licked chocolate icing slowly from her fingers, letting her eyes linger on his. Mulder swallowed hard and only then did she look away, blushing. Mulder cleared his throat.

"Are you going to explain to me why you called me at an ungodly hour to discuss the spiritual realm?"

"I told you, it was that commercial. It just got me thinking. I really am sorry I woke you, Mulder."

"It's an interesting line of thought. Honestly, Scully. Science aside, what does your gut say? You're a woman of faith. You believe the spirit survives the body's death. So what's so impossible about talking to these people who have passed on?"

"The dead are dead, Mulder. The body dies and the soul goes on. It doesn't linger. What would be the point?"

"To communicate with the living! To avenge its death, to right wrongs, to tie up loose ends..."

Scully laughed. "You've been reading too many Victorian melodramas."

"Yeah. That's exactly what I read." He laughed with her and she prayed he didn't see the blush rising in her cheeks at the thought of what he probably did read. Glossy, tawdry magazine images flitted through her mind. She reached for her coffee cup and took a sip to clear her head.

An hour later, a perky blonde on the tv was trying to sell them a miraculous new blender system. Neither of them was paying much attention to her. Mulder had kicked off his shoes, accepted a beer, and lay back against the arm of the couch. Scully had wrapped herself in an afghan and was leaning into his side, listening to his heart beating. It was comfortable and peaceful and just a tiny bit more intimate than they had ever allowed themselves to be before. Scully knew she ought to be worried, but she wasn't. It felt right.

Beside her, Mulder sighed.

"You all right?" she asked.

"Mostly," he said. Dana twisted her head to look at him, surprised at his frankness.

"Mostly?" she echoed.

"The whole world's come unmoored around us. Everything around us keeps crumbling away until all we really have is each other. Scully, you know how much we have lost. You know you are the center of my world."

"An anchor?"

"No." He looked frustrated. "More like...how familiar are you with John Donne?"

"The poet? Mulder, I went to med school."

"Yeah, him. Um... 'Our two souls therefore, which are one, / Though I must go, endure not yet / A breach, but an expansion, / Like gold to airy thinness beat. /If they be two, they are two so / As stiff twin compasses are two; / Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show / To move, but doth, if the other do. / And though it in the center sit, / Yet when the other far doth roam, / It leans and hearkens after it, / And grows erect, as that comes home.' " The words, long since memorized, came out softly, rhythmically. Dana's breath caught in her throat.

"That's beautiful," she murmured.

"Yeah, well, don't tell anyone at work. I don't want the criminal underworld to get wind of the fact that Agent Mulder can recite poetry."

"Bad for the reputation," Dana said teasingly. But her hand went out to clasp his, fingers twining through his. "Good for sweet-talking your partner, though."

"My partner is immune to sweet-talking."

"What makes you think that?" The world had narrowed to just his body and hers, the warmth between them, his eyes and lips and hands. Dana could feel her heart thumping in her chest.

"Look at me. How could anyone resist such a fine specimen of manhood for so many years? She's obviously immune." His words were light, but Mulder's hand tightened on hers.

"She's not resisting now."

"Scully."

"Mulder?" A pause, a heartbeat, then he closed the last few inches between them and pressed his lips to hers.

This was the part where she was supposed to pull away. This was where she was supposed to say things like "No" and "Mulder" and "What about our partnership?" But she didn't, and he didn't seem to realize she'd missed her cue.

"I have been waiting," he said, lips moving softly against hers, "so very, very, very long for this." The kiss deepened, drew itself out, warm and dizzying and full of promise. Scully managed to free her other arm from the tangling afghan and reached up, twining her fingers into his soft brown hair, smoothing her hand down the nape of his neck, feeling the contours of a body both known and unknown, as familiar as her own and yet unexplored. She had seen his face in every light, every mood; but when he broke the kiss and pulled back to look at her the absolute unguarded adoration she found there made her tremble.

"You missed me," she said yet again, her voice emerging with a quaver from between smiling lips.

"Very much," he whispered back. "Welcome home, Scully."

* * *

A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning

By John Donne

As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say

The breath goes now, and some say, No:

So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears,

Men reckon what it did, and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,

Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit

Absence, because it doth remove

Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,

That our selves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind,

Care less, eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so

As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show

To move, but doth, if the other do.

And though it in the center sit,

Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,

And makes me end where I begun.


End file.
